


King Falled

by luckjustkissedyouhello



Series: King Falled [1]
Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Banned Together Bingo, Broken Bones, Gen, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Post Series, Prompt: Torture, Torture, Whump, prompt: Kidnapping, prompt: strangling, protector!sammy, sammy stevens is a self sacrificing fool, seriously heavy on the hurt, way more violent than canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26058889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckjustkissedyouhello/pseuds/luckjustkissedyouhello
Summary: Ordinary days take swan dives into shitastic territory so rapidly that Sammy has started thinking of the action as being ‘King Fallded’ -a verb to fit how swiftly his life can deteriorate thanks to the awful underbelly of the town he now calls home.---Sammy finds himself at the mercy of SI's Head of Interrogations.
Series: King Falled [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2159982
Comments: 32
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Buckle up, friends. This one is rough. 
> 
> Content warnings for the whole fic can be found in the end notes of Chapter 6. They contain spoilers, so read at your discretion.

It happens quickly, like it always does when things go to hell in King Falls.

Ordinary days take swan dives into shitastic territory so rapidly that Sammy has started thinking of the action as being ‘King Fallded’ -a verb to fit how swiftly his life can deteriorate thanks to the awful underbelly of the town he now calls home. All he wanted was breakfast with good company. 

The Void has been open for thirty-three days now. The night it opened Sammy assumed that everything was over, that life as he knew it, as he had come to accept it, was gone. As it turned out: no. And that may be worse, if he’s honest. The dark shit got darker, there was more freaky activity going on around King Falls, but day to day life did not stop (just like it refused to stop the day Sammy’s world ended, the day he stepped out the front door to find a running car and his fiancé nowhere to be found). Radio shows must be put on, the library needs Emily...so they go through the motions on a daily basis like _The Fucking Void_ isn’t open and ready to consume them all. Like it didn’t destroy Cecil. 

It’s early, on a Tuesday - no Wednesday - and he and Ben are at Rose’s for breakfast before going home to bed. Troy is there, holding their regular table for them. Sammy’s not sure where the Sheriff is in his day -if it’s starting like normal people or ending like him and Ben, and he doesn’t get a chance to ask because as he walks in he discovers his wallet isn’t in his back pocket. He remembers then: it was falling out of his back pocket as he got in Ben’s car, so he had tossed it onto the center console. 

“I need to get my wallet,” Sammy called to Ben, who tossed him his car keys without prompting. Sammy went out to the car in the dirt lot behind the diner, and it was supposed to be a normal-for-them morning. Ben pouring entirely too much syrup on his Pancake Puppies; Sammy stealing forkfuls of hash browns from Ben’s plate. Inevitably, Ben will just half shout at him that if he wanted potatoes he should have ordered his own instead of the ‘lame’ side of fruit salad Sammy always gets, and Sammy will ‘accidentally’ fling cantaloupe at Ben (because fuck cantaloupe). All the while Troy will be snorting with laughter like the fond co-best bud that he is. 

Now, Sammy thinks that might be the last thing he ever says to Ben Arnold, and hates himself for it. Just like with Jack, he’s never going to get a chance to say a proper goodbye. 

Because standing right next to Ben’s car is TimBot. Even with the sunglasses the robot is wearing to hide their electric blue eyes, Sammy knows it’s not the real, human, Tim. Tim can’t walk unaided (yet, a hopeful voice in his head adds, even as he stares down his certain death). He certainly wouldn’t be standing next to Ben’s car, a dozen feet away from Sammy. 

Sammy isn’t sure how fast TimBot can run. He’s not a good runner himself, but maybe with the fear of the robot asshole chasing him, he can make it back in the diner—-No. That would put Troy and Ben at risk too. And, _fuck!_ , all the other people in Rose’s. No. The diner isn’t an option. 

“Sammy Stevens! My friend!” RoboTim says, in that sugary sweet Stepford friend kind of voice. 

“Fuck off,” Sammy responds, his ribs aching with the memory of the last time he met the robot wearing his friend’s face. 

“Sammy, that’s no ways to greet a friend,” says a voice Sammy was very much content to never hear again, from somewhere behind him. 

Sammy keeps his body facing TimBot and looks over his shoulder. Yes. It’s Ernie fucking Salcedo there to really add to Sammy’s Very Bad Day because King Falls does nothing by halves. Were they watching and waiting for a chance to get one of them alone? _Fuck_. What if Ben had been the one to leave something in the car? Sammy feels sick at the thought. 

“We just want to ask you a couple of questions and what have you,” Ernie goes on, still looking very fucking big and very dangerous like he did the last time Sammy saw him face to face. 

“I don’t suppose you’re gonna ask your questions here, are you?” Sammy is proud his voice doesn’t shake. His hands are thankfully in his hoodie’s pockets, shaking, but hidden. He doesn’t want Ernie to see him scared. He doesn’t think that would be good for him. 

Ernie laughs. “Oh, Sammy. I always said you were too funny for your own good.” His voice is still friendly in that low-rent version of John Gotti kinda way, but Ernie’s eyes are steel. 

Yeah. He’s a dead man. Sammy looks down, kicks at the dirt under his boots - a calculated risk. “I don’t have a say in coming with you.” He meant it to be a question, but it’s a statement. 

“No.” Ah, there’s that ice cold menace from Ernie that Sammy has come to know and love. “We could go in there and get your boyfriend, if you’d rather.” 

Sammy turns his body to look at Ernie fully, trying to hide how scared that statement makes him. “You stay away from Ben. Whatever you think we know, I know. And also, really? ‘ _Boyfriend_ ’? That’s a bit casually homophobic don’t ya think, Ernie? I mean, it’s twenty-twenty for fuck’s sake. Get with the times, man.” Sammy’s babbling, he knows he is, but his heart has dropped to hover somewhere around his balls, he’s so scared. And he needs to distract Ernie and TimBot, keep their attention away from his feet. 

Ernie is closer to the front of the diner. Maybe Sammy can make it to the windows, someone can at least see who’s taking him. He pulls his hands out of his pockets, Ben’s car keys in his right fist. It’s not much, but it’s the only distraction he has. He takes a few steps closer to Ernie, closer to the door, away from where he was standing in the dirt. 

He pulls his arm back to throw the keys at Ernie, a paltry distraction at best, but suddenly there’s a vice like grip around his forearm near his wrist, that twists viciously. Something in his arm gives with a sickening snap that is covered by Sammy’s scream of pain. A hand clamps over his mouth (fuck if that skin isn’t warm like a person but not quite the right texture) and lifts him off his feet. Sammy should _not_ have taken his eyes off of RoboTim. The hand is closed so tightly over his mouth and nose that he can’t draw a breath in, which is fine, he was just going to waste that air on screaming again because the fucking robot is still twisting his arm and Sammy sees spots. RoboTim is lifting him by the one hand. Shakes him like a rag doll and Sammy gets the message, stops trying to scream. 

A car horn starts to blare and he realizes with dawning horror that he must have hit the panic button on the keys. Ben will come out. They’ll grab Ben too! Sammy opens his fist and the keys tumble from his hand. Jack-In-The-Box-Jesus, he never thought opening his hand could hurt that much. 

“It’s not a weapon you idiot. I told you no violence out in the open. Get him in the van,” Ernie is saying to TimBot, Sammy can kind of see him out of the corner of his eye. The bastard bends down and picks up the keys, shutting the alarm off before dropping them back down to the ground. Sammy wonders if Ernie sees the letters he drew in the dirt with his foot as they spoke: ES. He hopes not. It might be the only way for Ben to know who killed him. He doesn’t want Ben to hope that he’ll be in The Void when they finally do rescue Jack. Sammy knows in his heart that they’ll try it still, even if he dies. 

Sammy is being dragged towards a blue (fucking SI Blue) work van, RoboTim baring his weight and his struggles like it’s nothing. The side door is open, waiting for him. TimBot tosses him in. 

Sammy’s head connects with the side of the van, hard. He doesn’t remember hitting the floor. 

+++   
To Be Continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy finds out what Ernie and TimBot want. 
> 
> Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt: Strangling.

The next thing he is aware of, fully aware of, is the agony slicing through his arm when RoboTim grabs him by it to pull him out of the van. Sammy doesn’t even get a scream out before everything gets super hot and bright and fucking painful, and he passes out.

He wakes up once again in pain - he’s sensing a theme. He’s standing now - well, listing towards the left more than standing, his arms are up above his head. He’s confused for a moment, looking up at his wrists that are bound together and connected to a rope that runs over a wooden beam in the ceiling. His right arm bends where it isn’t supposed to, and he’s pretty sure that’s why that hurts so much. His head aches and it’s making everything so hard to think. He’s in danger. Obviously. Hurt. Why? 

“He’s awake, Ernie,” a mechanical voice says from somewhere behind him and Sammy nearly stops breathing as the memory of the past few - what? minutes? hours? - floods back. He is so fucked. 

“Stand up straight, Sammy!” RoboTim’s false cheery voice cuts into his confused thoughts, and smacks him - open palmed, not even a fist - on his left side to push him towards the right. 

More of his weight shifts to his obviously broken arm - Sammy’s vision goes white - and he almost passes out again. But Ernie talks, and his words send enough terror through Sammy that the resulting adrenaline rush keeps him conscious. Ernie says: “If you can’t stay awake, Sam, I can get your little friend here instead. Or the dyke. It don’t matter to me none. But I think it matters to you.” 

“Don’t,” Sammy forces himself to say, past the ache in his skull, the agony that is his broken arm. His eyes are squeezed shut, like a child afraid of the dark so it hides under the covers - he doesn’t want Ernie to see his fear even though the bastard is playing him like a fucking fiddle and they both know it. Sammy plays him in return, adding in a very broken sounding: “Please.” Ernie is a sadist, a bully. Sammy Stevens knows bullies and sadists. He was raised by one. He has no problem ditching his pride if it means less pain for the people he loves. 

“What, no comments about my whatdoyoucallit casual homophobia this time?” Ernie asks, and his voice is so close now, that Sammy opens his eyes to see Ernie’s face inches from his own, grinning, amused. 

Yeah. He’s sure of it now. Ernie Salscedo is a sadist. A sadist that has him tied up and hurting already. Sammy is certain, looking into the larger man’s eyes, that he is going to die. He’s going to die screaming and in a world of hurt. The only hope he has is that it all ends with him dead and Ernie doesn’t go after Ben or the girls or anyone else he cares about. 

Sammy stares at the man, terrified into silence by the idea of anyone else standing here in his place, and Ernie stares back for a long moment. Then his face turns hard, all hints of amusement gone, and Ernie’s fist connects solidly with Sammy’s left eye before he has a chance to brace himself. He loses his balance for a moment, can’t hold back his cry of pain when his arms bare his full weight. His boots slide on the tiled floor for a long moment before he manages to get his feet under himself again. The room keeps swaying after, and it takes Sammy a frankly terrifyingly long time to realize that’s because he’s sporting a head injury that the punch to his face has probably worsened. 

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Ernie says, shaking out his hand casually - Sammy hopes his face fucking hurt the bastard’s hand. “This is going to go very badly for you, my friend, if you don’t answer my questions when I ask them. Got it?” 

There’s a question, there, so Sammy nods. 

Ernie laughs. He reaches out and taps Sammy on the cheek. Sammy is inordinately proud he doesn’t flinch. “There we go. You aren’t a dumb man, are you Sam?” 

“I’m starting to think I am,” Sammy answers truthfully. After all, he’s currently strung up from the ceiling of a...wait where _is_ he, anyway? Sammy takes a moment to process where he is, and is confused to find he’s in the middle of what appears to be a construction project? He turns his head to the left and sees a newspaper covered front window that has small gaps that are letting little rays of light in - so it’s still daytime. He’s in an under construction...bakery? 

He doesn’t see Ernie’s fist coming at his face again until it’s inches away. He flinches, but all that does is pull on his injured arm _before_ the blow lands against his left eye once more. Something warm and wet -- blood -- trickles down his face, skin split open from the ring Ernie’s wearing. 

“Pay attention, Sammy, and this will be over quick.” Ernie promises him. Sammy almost believes him. 

Sammy squints at the other man, Ernie’s a bit blurry - his left eye is watering, or maybe it’s blood getting in there, either way he’s lost half his vision. Right. No jokes or no looking around - he’s not sure what upset the mobster and it doesn’t matter, not really. He nods, hopes Ernie sees that as him trying to play nice. 

Ernie’s smile is down-right terrifying. “Good boy.” Ernie moves around, out of Sammy’s line of sight. He doesn't try and look around this time - he doesn’t need to be punched in the face twice to remember that lesson, thank you - but he wants to. 

The bastard doesn’t keep him waiting too long. Sammy’s not sure if that's a good or a bad thing. He steps back in front of Sammy - and he’s holding a goddamned claw hammer. Fucking _wonderful_. It takes every remaining ounce for bravery Sammy has to look at Ernie’s face, not the tool - weapon - in his hand. 

Ernie grins at him. He’s slowly shedding the ‘I’m a nice guy’ false image. Sammy always saw through it to the terrifying man beneath the facade, but the fact that Ernie is slowly dropping said facade all the way is down right _terrifying_. “I’ve told you, I’m Head of Interrogations at S.I., haven’t I Sammy?” 

Sammy nods. He’s not sure what else to do. He’s trying very hard not to stare at the hammer. It won’t matter if he sees the blow coming, anyway, and he doesn’t want to give Ernie the satisfaction of watching him squirm. Sure, Sammy’s sweating and shaking already, though he thinks that’s more from pain than fear --his arm really fucking hurts-- but he really, _really_ doesn’t want to give Ernie any more of his fear. 

Ernie raises the hammer - of course Sammy flinches - but he just uses it to point to RoboTim who is still standing behind Sammy. Jack-In-The-Box-Jesus what does it say about his life that he was so scared of the thug in front of him that he forgot about the _goddamned murder robot_ standing behind him? 

“Our friend Tim here—“ Ernie starts to say. 

“—That is not Tim Jensen!” Sammy snarls before he can stop himself. He hates TimBot for what it did to the Jensens. Hates that the abomination wears his friend’s face. The words just spill out. 

Ernie, predictably, doesn’t appreciate the interruption. In an instant, even before Sammy’s fully processed that he’s spoken, Ernie’s grip on the hammer shifts from casually pointing to wielding the hammer like the weapon he intends to use it as, and the next thing Sammy knows, the left side of his face is a supernova of pain. For a long, long moment, Sammy’s not even sure where he is. All he knows is pain. He can feel himself start to float away from it, it’s just too much. Too much pain, too much fear. 

“—Sammy—“ Ernie is sing-song calling his name over and over again and it pulls Sammy back into the moment, back to full consciousness. “What did I tell you about passing out? You with me still?” 

Sammy grunts and nods, realizes he has to open his eyes. He doesn’t want Ernie to go after anyone else. So he forces himself to open his eyes. Only his right one wants to cooperate fully at this point and Sammy looks at the blurry hulk of a man in front of him. “‘m ‘wake,” he says, just in case Salcedo wants verbal confirmation. Sammy would give the bastard anything he wants to keep Ben from being in his place. 

“Good. Don’t interrupt me again, Sam. I don’t like that. Capisce?” 

Sammy grunts the affirmative and forces another nod, which just makes his face throb more, but it makes Ernie smile that scary fucking smile so it must be the right thing to do. Good. It’s getting harder to keep track of what the right thing is, what Ernie wants from him. 

“As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me: Our friend Tim here ain’t so good at getting a man to talk. So I’m giving him a few pointers and what have you.” 

It’s the first ‘what have you’ Ernie’s said in a while. Sammy thinks it might be important that Ernie’s dropped the ‘I’m so nonthreatening I can’t even remember certain words’ act. But it’s hard to keep stringing together thoughts when he can't think past the pain. His face and arm _hurt_. 

Ernie seems to be waiting for something from Sammy. He didn’t ask a question, did he? Sammy feels a stab of panic, worried that he'll be struck again, and he's not sure who he hates more in that moment: himself, or Ernie. He really doesn't want to be hit again, but he can't remember a question. Finally, he asks: “You want me to talk about something?” 

“Bingo!” Salscado shouts and Sammy doesn’t even bother to be ashamed of his flinch. “I only have one question for you, Sammy, and then we’ll let you go and whatnot. _If_ you tell us. Capisce?” 

Sammy doubts they'll let him go. But he nods. 

“Good. Pay attention because I’m only asking nicely once, Sam: Who is The Dark?” 

Something short-circuits in Sammy’s brain or something, because he barks out a confused: “What?” Before he can think to stop himself. Of all the things for Ernie to ask, he hadn’t expected that. 

Ernie sighs. And then the hammer is smashing into Sammy’s right side, high on his rib cage. Sammy’s not even sure if his scream is because of the pain of the blow or the way it rocks his weight on his broken arm. When he manages to breathe in again, the new pain in his side is bad enough that it makes it hard to get a full breath in. 

“Sammy. I said I was only asking nicely once. You need to start listening better or this is going to get _really_ unpleasant.” 

Sammy can’t imagine what that would entail, seeing as he can barely string a thought together past the pain. He doesn’t say that. Maybe he doesn’t have to, his face does or something, because Ernie laughs and steps forward. This time Sammy doesn’t flinch —he outright _cringes_ away. But he has nowhere to go. Tensing up, keeping his muscles tense after no blow comes right away is agony. After a moment he relaxes marginally, unable to hold the tense position, and opens his eyes. Once he does, Ernie gives him an expectant look. Sammy has just enough time to understand what's coming. The hammer smashes into his side again, just an inch or two lower than the first blow. Sammy can't hold back his scream of pain, which really just makes everything hurt more. 

Ernie is watching him closely. When he's certain he has Sammy's attention again he says: “Your friend broke into SI property. He has something we want back. You know who he is. So tell us who he is and I won’t have to break all your ribs, Sammy.” 

Sammy licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry with renewed fear. In an instant, he’s sure of a few things: 1. Everything fucking hurts. 2. Jack-In-The-Box-Jesus help him, Ernie is apparently just getting started. 3. If he tells them who he suspects The Dark is, that man will die. 4. Then he will die too - there’s no way Ernie would torture him like this and then just let him go. He can even hazard a guess at a fifth thing: He and Dwayne Libbydale will both die in a hell of a lot of pain, if Sammy names the man. All this adds up to one very unpleasant realization: Sammy _cannot_ tell Ernie he thinks Dwayne is The Dark. 

Sammy always knew The Dark would get someone killed. He didn’t expect it would be like this, but he fucking knew it. 

All those thoughts race through his pain addled brain rather quickly, all things considered. He thinks Ernie must see the decision on his face, when he makes it, because he slams the hammer into Sammy's right side ribs again. Once more, the blow is barely an inch lower than the others. Methodological fuck. 

When he can breathe enough to speak, Sammy says: “I dunno who he is. Kill me if you wanna. It’s not gonna change the fact that I. Don’t. Know.” He tries to put as much force as he can to the lie, to believe it as much as he can, but it’s hard when he’s certain he’s got at least two broken ribs on top of everything else. And really. He’s not positive it is Dwayne. He wouldn’t name him even if the man himself said he was, but he’s definitely not making the mistake of damning a possibly innocent man. 

Ernie steps forward, grabs a fist full of Sammy’s hair, uses it to pull Sammy’s face close. “I’m not gonna kill you Sammy. I’m just gonna ask and ask and ask until you wish you were dead.” 

A laugh, definitely on the hysterical side, bubbles out of Sammy’s chest. And fuck it hurts to laugh, but he can’t stop himself. “I wish I was dead pretty much every day of my life,” Sammy says between laughs (and agonizing gasps in for breath). It’s true, except maybe he doesn’t quite wish for death as much as he used to. Still, his life ended five years ago and he’s been just a shell of a man since the morning he woke up to find Jack gone. “You’re nothing new, just a fake Italian bully.” 

He might have gotten away with laughing. And maybe even the admission that he’s not afraid of dying here. But the insult to Ernie’s heritage was probably a step too far. Story of his fucking life. 

Still holding onto Sammy’s hair, Ernie growls, fucking actually _growls_ , and snarls: “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Each word another strike of the hammer against his abused rib cage, lower than before because Ernie’s so close. 

Sammy can’t get a breath in between blows to even scream in pain. It’s too much pain heaped on top of misery on top of pure terror. He knows there’s tears on his face and hates himself for them, for the hitching, sobbing breaths he manages to pull in between blows (it sounds pathetic, even to his own ears). But it’s too much. Too much hurt and fear - fear for his life ending in a mess of blood and pain, fear for Ben and Emily and Lily and Jack-In-The-Box-Jesus he’s afraid for The Fucking Dark’s life too. Everyone he knows and loves that isn’t currently in The Goddamned Void is going to die over this. Over an idiot that runs around wearing leather in the middle of the night chasing muggers because he saw The Dark Knight a few too many times. Every single nerve ending in his body is screaming at him in pain and he’s sure that he’s going to fucking die. He _wants_ to die if it means the pain will go away. 

No...No. He can’t die. They’ll drag in Ben next. Or Emily. Or Lily. The thought of any of them in his place, hurting like he is, nearly breaks him, makes him rat out the idiot that stole from Ernie, but his conscience won’t let him. Even beaten and nearly broken, in more pain and feeling more terror than he’s ever felt before his life (it was a high bar before today, but Ernie quickly shattered the bar like Sammy’s ribs), Sammy knows he won’t be able to ever face Jack again if he breaks and names Dwayne. 

So he does something far more stupid in a desperate bid to get the pain to stop, possibly permanently. When Ernie lets go of his hair, Sammy summons every single ounce of strength he can, and slams his head forward. It’s a perfect Glasgow Kiss. Ernie’s nose erupts into blood. Sammy did spend the majority of his youth head banging away at concerts after all - he’s got a strong neck. 

His proud fuck-you-you-prick smile is short lived, because Ernie drops the hammer, and wraps both hands around Sammy’s neck. Sammy barely registers the pain of Ernie leaning his weight into him, pulling on his broken arm. He sees that Ernie’s speaking to him, he can see the man’s mouth moving, but he can’t hear the words being said over the sound of blood in his ears. 

Ernie claimed he wasn't going to kill him, but there is pure murder in the man’s eyes now. Sammy’s pissed him off - it’s a skill. He always knew he’d die when he pissed off the wrong person. The animalistic terror slicing through him at the spots that start crowding in his vision gives him enough energy to raise his foot and smash his steel toed boot right into Ernie’s shin. Sammy puts everything he has in the kick. 

It’s Ernie’s turn to cry out in pain and he leans more of his weight onto Sammy. Ernie Salscado is not a small man. Neither is Sammy for that matter. 

The beam Sammy’s tied to on the other hand? _That_ is small. Because there is an alarming snapping sound, and then there’s nothing holding Sammy up. So there’s nothing holding Ernie up either. 

It probably saves him from being strangled to death - Ernie’s hands lose their grip on Sammy’s throat as they fall. Sammy manages to get a breath in before the duel pain of hitting the ground and having a very large man fall on top of his abused body is too much and Sammy blacks out. 

+++  
To Be Continued…


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt: hurts to breathe

Sammy wakes to a fresh explosion of pain in his face, radiating out from his nose.

Someone is kicking him. He groans and tries to cover his face with his arms. Moving his right arm fucking hurts and just means it gets kicked next instead. He lets out a breathless cry of pain - he can’t breathe well enough to scream - and tries to curl up, protect himself, but the pain that shoots across his chest from his ribs stops him. He winds up kind of twisted and halfway curled into a ball, gasping raggedly for breath. He’s not sure what’s going on, but at least a third kick doesn’t come. 

“Will kicking him in the face encourage him to wake up?” Asks a robotic voice that Sammy knows even confused and in agony. 

“Not really, no,” another nightmare voice answers nonchalantly. 

Memory slams back into him -almost as violently as the boot to the face that woke him. Ernie. RoboTim. They want to know...something? Sammy can’t remember what for a long moment - but then he remembers: The Dark. They want to know who The mother-fucking Dark is, and Sammy can’t tell them. Won’t tell them...They’re going to kill him over it. Sammy thinks he is dying. Like, not that Ernie might kill him, but that his body is actively in the process of fucking dying. Every breath he takes is utter fucking agony, and it doesn’t feel like he’s getting any air. 

Someone grabs his fucked up arm and yanks it away from his face. Sammy tries to scream again, but he’s...he’s not getting enough air. 

Ernie is grinning down at him, face and chest bloody from the broken nose Sammy gave him. He’s kinda hard to see because one of Sammy’s eyes won’t open all that much and his head is spinning, his eyes streaming tears from the pain and fear and he can’t worry about what a psychopath looks like when he can’t seem to get any air in. Why can’t he breathe right? It feels like he’s still got Ernie’s hands around his throat. Each desperate inhale sends spirals of pain knifing through his chest, down his torso...and it is not worth it, because the gasps aren’t pulling in any fucking air. 

He is dying. 

Ernie’s smile melts from his face, replaced with a look of pure menace. “Sammy here knows he’s gotta keep awake or I’ll go get one of his little friends. Maybe I’ll get them all and make him watch while I slowly break them, one by one. Wadda ya say, Sammy? You want them here?” 

Ernie is grinning at him, like he knows what he’s threatening is Sammy’s worst nightmare come true. Sammy sends a little prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in, hasn’t since he was a small child that learned about the cruelty and monsters in the world and in his own home, but he prays anyway, in that moment, that Troy will protect his family. The sadistic monster in front of him just smiles when Sammy shakes his head desperately. “No. I’ll..” _Fuck_ it hurts to talk. “Please...Just...Stop hittin’ m’ head?” Sammy begs. He sounds as weak and pathetic and hurt as he feels. He doesn’t care. 

“You’re not the one callin’ the shots here, Sammy,” Ernie snarls at him, as he grabs a fistful of Sammy’s hair and uses it as a handle to smash the side of Sammy’s head against the floor. Sammy doesn’t quite black out, but for a few long moments, he can’t really feel his body at all, which is kinda nice and kinda concerning at the same time. He can hear Ernie talking, probably telling Tim1000 what to do to him, but he can’t quite understand what’s being said. 

Someone is tugging at his wrists, and he didn’t even realize they were still tied together until the knot is cut free and his arms fall apart, still kind of bloodless from being above his head for so long. He thinks the feeling that travels up his right arm when his elbow strikes the ground should be pain...except...he’s not sure he’s in any pain anymore? It feels so far away, like he’s not connected to his body at all. It should be terrifying, but he can’t get himself to be scared, either. A distant thought reminds him that he’s probably dying...but even that thought is detached, unconcerned. 

Then he’s off the ground, being carried bridal style by the goddamn murderbot. Sammy can only kind of hear Ernie’s voice directing TimBot, but he could be talking Greek for all Sammy knows. Or maybe Italian the bastard clearly learned from watching The Godfather. 

TimBot drops him, hard, onto a counter, and Sammy cries out, weakly, at the awful sensation of being dragged back into his abused body. He’s more alert again, and that means more aware of his pain. He thinks about smashing the back of his head on the countertop, to see if he can fall back into that floaty, disassociated feeling...but almost as soon as he thinks it, he dismisses the thought - he could either knock himself out and then Ernie would go after the others, or his attempt could just make Ernie angry. Sammy is not sure he can take much more of this, he doesn’t think he’d survive another attack by an enraged Ernie. 

For a long moment, nobody touches him or hurts him. He has time to take in his new surroundings. There’s more light here, there's sunlight coming in through a gap in the glass door’s newspaper coverings. It makes his head throb, reminding him he definitely has a concussion. He closes his eyes against the light. 

A moment later, the sharp sting from Ernie slapping his right cheek makes Sammy grunt, brings him closer to full awareness. Fuck he wishes it didn’t. He opens his eyes. 

Ernie is holding up something new, grinning his sadistic monster grin, not saying anything, letting Sammy’s terror build. Sammy doesn’t know what it is, with his half fucked vision and his spinning head and spiraling panic. But Ernie’s bloody grin tells Sammy he should be very fucking afraid. It kind of looks like a drill without the drill bit on. Sammy decides he doesn’t want to find out what the fuck it is and tries to get away, but TimBot grips his shoulders and pins him down to the countertop easily. Ernie laughs, fucking _laughs_ , and looks like it’s his birthday and Christmas combined. 

“I’m a firm believer in using the tools around you, Tim,” Ernie tells Timbot, as if Sammy’s not there, wheezing for breath between them. “And treating yourself. I’ve always wanted to use one of these during an interrogation.” Ernie’s sounds like a secretary that’s bought themselves a new expensive pen, not like a fucking psychopath about torture someone some more. 

Ernie doesn’t even ask the question again. He just presses the flat bit of the tool against Sammy’s right thigh, the fleshy outer part. And just before he pulls the trigger Sammy’s pain hazy brain realizes what the hell he’s got pressed against him - _a god-damned nail gun_ \- but Sammy can’t get away, he doesn’t have the strength to fight RoboTim when he’s _not_ beaten half to death already. Ernie laughs again as he pulls the trigger and Sammy finds enough breath to scream. RoboTim holds him down as he writhes, tries to get away from this new source of pain. 

Ernie moves the head of the nail gun a few inches lower, and looks up to meet Sammy’s eyes. “Give me a name and we can stop this, Sammy. I don’t think you want me to start aiming for bone.” 

Sammy hates himself for the weak whimper that leaves his mouth in response. “I don’t—“ he starts to sob out, to _beg_ , but Ernie cuts him off by pressing the trigger on the nail gun again. 

This time, Sammy can’t even scream. He just sobs breathlessly and shakes his head in a silent plea when Ernie moves the nail gun once more. 

But Ernie doesn’t pull the trigger - he doesn’t get a chance. All hell breaks loose instead. 

+++   
To Be Continued…


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ernie’s interrogation of Sammy is interrupted.
> 
> To avoid a spoiler, the prompt for this chapter is in the end notes.

Ernie never pulls the trigger on the nail gun a third time. Right before he can pull the trigger, there is an explosion of breaking glass.

RoboTim lets go of Sammy’s shoulders. Everything in him screams to get away from his tormentors. So he does. He throws himself to the left, because Tim1000 and Ernie are both on one side of the counter, Sammy’s right side. A loud gunshot, the loudest one he’s ever heard, goes off as he rolls himself to the left. He only makes it a half turn before there’s no more counter under him, and he’s too slow to land feet first. Instead, he lands on his knees first, and barely manages to stop himself from face planting with an outstretched left arm. 

The shock of his landing ripples through his body, and it’s too much. He blacks out, but he must not be out long. He comes back to himself laying on his left side, back against the counter’s side. There’s silence, except for Sammy’s ragged attempts at breathing. Then, unmistakably Troy’s voice yelling: “Ben. Wait! I need to secure—“ 

Anything else Troy says is drowned out by Ben calling his name, the crashing sound of the presumably shattered front door opening. Sammy knows he should get up, run while he can, but...he doesn’t think he can. He can’t breathe all curled up on his side, even if it’s the side that doesn’t hurt. Instinct tells him he needs to lay flat. It takes way more energy than he really has in him, but he manages to get himself laying flat on his back. It doesn’t help all that much. He still can’t pull in a full breath. 

Ben calls his name again and Sammy is pretty sure he’ll be hearing Ben shout his name like that in his nightmares for a long time to come (if he doesn’t die here, an unhelpful part of his brain points out). It’s awful, hearing Ben sound like that: anguished, destroyed. 

By the time Sammy realizes that he should try and tell Ben he’s alive, the man in question is crashing down to his knees next to him. And...fuck. It’s _a lot_. Ben’s sobbing, but trying to smile comfortingly, and his hands are up, hovering, like he wants to touch Sammy but is afraid to accidentally hurt him. His mouth keeps opening and closing, but he doesn’t say anything - he looks too shocked to say anything. And he keeps looking back and forth over Sammy’s abused body, eyes so huge Sammy has a hysteria induced vision of them falling right out of Ben’s head like a cartoon and for some fucking reason (probably the insane amount of trauma Sammy just went through) it makes Sammy laugh. 

Which. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_! That is a bad idea. Sammy hears a sound that can only be called a whimper escape his mouth, and he tries to curl his arms around his ribs protectively, but moving his right arm is awful too and he squeezes his eyes shut against the pain. 

Ben calls his name, not screaming like before, but says it softly, urgently, and gently cups the right side of Sammy’s face in his hand. His cheek is one of the few places on Sammy’s body that isn’t currently on fire from pain. And it’s the first gentle touch he’s felt in what feels like a very long time, something he was sure, at one point, he’d never get to feel again. 

Sammy opens his eyes. Ben forces a smile even though he’s still hiccuping hysterical sobs. “Oh, _fuck_ Sammy,” Ben whispers, sounding overwhelmed and so, so very distraught over how badly Sammy’s hurt. Sammy hates that he’s the reason Ben is so upset. 

“‘m ‘kay,” Sammy tries to reassure Ben. It’s a lie. But he wants the tears to stop almost as much as he wants all the pain to stop. 

That just makes Ben cry harder. “Sammy….” he says, though he doesn’t sound mad, just lost and so, so young. Sammy hopes Ben’s not mad at him. He didn’t try and get himself almost killed on purpose. 

Just in case, Sammy musters up the energy to speak again. It’s hard, he’s not getting enough oxygen. His face and his ribs fucking scream at him in pain as he manages to get out: “‘’m s..orr…y.” Jack-In-The-Box-Jesus he has to gasp for breath between syllables. But he thinks Ben gets the message, and that’s all that matters. He thinks...he thinks he might still die here. If he does, he doesn’t want to die without apologizing to Ben. Sammy is sure Ben knows Sammy loves him, so the only other important thing is that Ben knows he didn’t do this on purpose. 

Ben’s thumb has been sliding along Sammy’s cheekbone, wiping away tears Sammy didn’t even know he was crying, but, at Sammy’s apology, Ben’s thumb stills. Which kinda sucks. Sammy really, _really_ didn’t think he’d ever get this again. Despite the pain, the fear that he’s dying lurking at the corners of his thoughts, Sammy smiles sadly up at Ben. Ben is here. Ben will keep him safe. Ben won’t leave him to die alone. That’s so much better than he thought he was going to get, just five minutes ago. 

Ben opens his mouth to speak, but Sammy never hears what he’s going to say, because there’s a noise on the other side of the counter, and suddenly, he remembers about Ernie and TimBot. Maybe they’re still here, still a threat? Oh, _fuck_ , they’re gonna hurt Ben, now! 

Sammy starts to try and get up - fuck! trying to sit up steals the meager breath he’s managed to pull in - a sound of distress leaving his throat before he realizes it’s him. Changing tactics, he tries to roll onto his left side, get his legs under him. The sadistic bastards are still here, and Sammy can’t let them hurt Ben like they’ve hurt him. He _can’t_. 

Ben presses down on Sammy’s right shoulder, gently but firmly, not stopping until Sammy is back to laying flat. “It’s okay, Sammy,” Ben promises. “It’s Troy.” 

Sammy feels more tears, the relieved kind, sting his eyes. He hears retching, awful and loud in the silence that’s once again fallen between him and Ben. For one long moment, Sammy thinks the sound came from him -it keeps happening to him, hearing awful sounds like the wheezing, whimpering gasps he keeps making to breathe. But Ben looks up, over the counter. 

“Troy?” Ben asks. 

“I ain’t ever…” Troy mumbles and retches again. Then he says, louder: “Ernie’s dead. RoboTim is out of commission, too….as far as I can tell...Try...try not to look over here.” 

Ben, predictably, starts to rise up, but the second his hand leaves Sammy’s shoulder, Sammy whimpers (there will be time for embarrassment later, right now, all Sammy knows is Ben is good and safe and comfort and he doesn’t want Ben to leave him), and Ben immediately shifts back down. 

“Troy.” Ben’s voice is still terrified, still anguished. Sammy hates that he’s the reason Ben sounds so broken. ”Troy. Sammy’s really—-I don’t think—-Fuck, Troy—Sammy’s really not breathing so good.” Ben says it all in a rush, like he can’t pick a sentence and see it to the end to explain why he’s scared for Sammy. 

“I called for an ambulance,” Troy says, and there’s more crunching of glass as he walks closer to them. 

Sammy’s one-eyed vision is full of Ben, only of Ben. Destroyed as Ben looks right now, it’s still better than anything Sammy’s been looking at since walking out of Rose’s to get his wallet. Then Troy’s horrified face — goddamnit there are tears on Troy’s face too — is next to Ben’s. 

“ _Fuck_ , Sammy,” Troy swears softly under his breath when he gets a look at the pathetic state Sammy’s in. Says it so quietly Sammy almost doesn’t hear it over his gasps for breath that are getting louder and more desperate. He thinks he should be scared about how much harder it is to breathe...he’s just not sure why he’s supposed to be scared. 

“What do we do?” Ben asks. He looks and sounds so young and small. It makes fresh tears sting Sammy’s eyes, knowing he’s the cause. Nobody should ever make Ben sound like that. 

Troy looks lost, overwhelmed. He opens his mouth to answer, and closes it. Shakes his head. 

His co-best-buds look so distraught. It’s Sammy’s fault. “‘s ‘kay.” It is a lie. But he still forces the words out. 

“It is not fucking okay! Stop saying it’s okay!” Ben screams hysterically. Probably justified. He thinks he’s kinda fucked up, and obviously not okay, though Sammy just can’t get himself to care too much about his injuries, now that the pain in his body is fading away. A thought occurs to him, makes him realize Ben needs to know one more thing. 

“Di...didn’t tell…’em.” Sammy says, because it’s important for Ben to know that Sammy didn’t break and tell two monsters intent on breaking him what they wanted to know. It’s important to Sammy that Ben knows he wasn’t a coward, wasn’t so weak he only worried about himself even while Ernie was swinging at his ribs with a fucking hammer. 

“Didn’t tell them what, Sammy?” Troy asks, while Ben just gapes at Sammy. 

“Hmm?” Sammy asks. Why are they asking him questions? He’s so tired. Oh. Right. “I didn’t...say...who...Dark is.” This may be the last words he ever says. He doesn’t want Ben and Troy to think he was too weak to take a beating to save someone else’s life. He’s pretty sure laying here crying about it, making all sorts of pained noises, shows how weak he really is. 

The words out, Sammy relaxes again. “Jus’ gonna….” he wants to tell them he’s just closing his eyes for a minute, he’s fine, it’s all good, nothing even hurts anymore, not really, but he can’t get the rest of the words out, he’s too busy letting his eyes close. He doesn’t have the breath for all those words anyway. 

A fresh bright pain stings his cheek. He thought he was done being hit! Sammy lets out a broken sob but he opens his eyes because it will only cause more pain if he doesn’t - well, eye - to see Ben raising his hand up to hit him again. Why? Why is everyone hitting him? He makes a pathetic whining noise and hates himself for the sound. 

Ben immediately drops his hand. He looks frantic. “Fuck, Sammy, I’m so sorry. But you gotta stay awake, and you wouldn’t wake up. Okay? Stay with us.” Ben babbles at him desperately, and reaches out to brush Sammy’s hair, it’s gotta be a total bloody mess at this point, out of his face. Sammy’s stupid traitorous body flinches, and Ben looks away, but he puts his hand on the top of Sammy’s head anyway. Sammy wonders how long he was out, how scary that was for Ben, Sammy not waking up. 

“You’re okay, Sammy. But you gotta stay awake. _Please_.” Ben says. Sammy’s not sure why he has to stay awake, but Ben looks so upset. Sammy doesn’t want to let Ben down. Sammy hears sirens. He thinks it might be for him. That’s...probably a good thing. 

There’s tugging at his shirt and Sammy groans, tries to twist away because the fabric pulling on his skin is making pain surge everywhere, like it’s waking up his nerve endings, but he can’t really move all that well, his limbs that don’t ache to move are so damn heavy. He kind of weakly flails his left arm. “You’re okay, Sammy,” Ben says, catching his flailing arm and settling it down to the ground with one hand, the other smoothing away more hair off of Sammy’s sweaty (or bloody...or both?) forehead. It’s...weirdly nice. Kind of like being pet like a dog. But it’s reassuring. 

“Yeah. I’m just...the paramedics are going to need to...“ Troy is saying, half distracted as he works open the buttons to Sammy’s flannel shirt. He must be going slower than he likes, because he gives up after a few buttons and just yanks it open the rest of the way. Sammy figures the shirt was a loss before that anyway. 

“You and your gosh-darn layers,” Troy says...Everything is so slow now, so far away. Sammy thinks of saying he had a hoodie on too before, but Ernie must’ve taken that off and so yeah maybe that is a lot of layers but whatever why does that matter? He’s having trouble understanding things. 

He can hardly see Troy as he removes something from a compartment on his tool belt, and starts to use it to cut open Sammy’s concert t-shirt. Sammy’s not sure why his clothes are being destroyed, but Troy is trying very hard to be gentle. It hardly hurts when, like with the flannel, Troy gives up and just rips the shirt the rest of the way. 

“ _Fuck_ ” Troy swears. His eyes are almost as large as Ben’s, locked on Sammy’s torso. Sammy thinks it must look bad. Would bruises come up that quickly? He doesn't know. All he knows is that it was feeling bad, before. Not so much right now. 

The sirens are louder now. Sammy hopes they’re for him. He really does. He can’t really force himself to keep gasping for breath that just feels like it’s not doing anything. 

“Jesus Christ. What did they...“ Ben starts to ask, his voice choked, like he’s the one not getting any air, but he stops mid question. That’s good; Ben probably doesn’t want to know. 

Sammy can’t get himself to breathe in again. He just...he _can’t_. Ben is staring at him, looking like that night Emily was taken, horrified and helpless and destroyed. Sammy feels awful. He’s the cause now, and he hates himself for it. His vision is fading out and he reaches out blindly for Ben. He’s not sure if he’s looking for comfort of offering comfort but does it matter, in the end? 

The last thing he feels is Ben’s hand catching his, squeezing. 

+++ 

A piercing pain in his side pulls him to consciousness. He tries to get away but there are so many people around him that he can hardly see because he can’t seem to open one eye and there’s something on his face and he wants it off his fucking face becuase it’s blowing cold air on him and he can’t take that right now it’s just one too many discomforts but someone catches his flailing hand and he whines. Someone whispers his name, just barely audible and he opens eyes he didn’t know were closed again to see Ben looking at him. Ben’s face is bloodless. Sammy hopes he’s not hurt too... The hands touching him try to roll him onto his left side and it’s too much. Sammy passes back out, afraid and confused. 

Ben’s yelling. Sammy can’t understand what he’s saying. He’s moving but not and it’s confusing and he has to struggle to open his eyes again. He’s outside, flying? No. No. People are pushing him. He’s laying on something. Suddenly Ben is in his vision again, looking so, so pale...and...crying? Sammy tries to reach out to him, but Ben is gone and then whatever he’s on hits into something and Sammy cries out at the jolt and everything fades out again as he’s pushed into an ambulance. 

When he opens his eyes all he can see is a ceiling that’s too low and everything hurts and he has no fucking idea what is going on. And then Ben’s face fills his narrow vision, upside down, between him and the too low ceiling and there’s a lot of noise going on around him - what’s that wailing? - it’s so much and he can’t breathe right and why does everything _hurt_? “Shhh, Sammy,” Ben says, and even his voice sounds awful, destroyed….What’s going on? Why does Ben look so broken? “You’re in an ambulance. You’re hurt. But—“ Ben’s voice breaks, and he trails off for a moment. Then says, firmly: “You’re safe. I won’t let anyone else hurt you.” Sammy smiles at Ben. That’s good. Nice of him. Sammy opens his mouth to thank him, but everything shifts as the ambulance - why is he in an ambulance? - turns and he cries out instead. Ben looks up, says something to someone, pleading note in his voice but Sammy can’t hear what Ben’s saying over the pain. Someone pulls on his left arm and he tries to pull away but Ben goes ‘shh’ again and pets his forehead and there’s a new, tiny little pain in his arm and then everything starts to fade a bit and he thinks that’s bad, it’s got to be bad, ‘cause he thinks he might be dying, but Ben is smiling at him even though there are tears on his face, and he’s saying ‘it’s okay, it’s okay’ over and over and Sammy knows Ben wouldn’t lie to him so he lets his eyes close. 

There’s a bright light over him and something on his face and everything hurts and people are touching him and he’s scared and he can hardly breathe and there’s something he’s missing, something awful, and he tries to move, to speak and ask what’s going on or why everything hurts so fucking much but he can’t. The air blowing on his face changes and tastes different and then everything gets blurry and fades out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was: ambulance ride...not an easy one when your POV character is suffering from multiple head injuries *and* kind of dying....hope I did okay.
> 
> There’s at least one more chapter in this. I promised I don’t do all hurt no comfort.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy wakes up, confused and in pain. But Ben is there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prompts for this one. We’re in the wrapping things up stage, now.

He registers the beeping first. A constant, steady sound that penetrates the fog in his brain and until he can’t remember not hearing it. He can’t really feel his body, not really. He _hurts_ but kinda like it is someone else hurting? Sammy doesn’t think that’s a good thing.

He should open his eyes. He’s just not sure he wants to. He has a feeling something bad has happened. It would be easier to drift back to sleep. His brain is as slow and thick as the maple syrup at Rose’s. His whole body feels drenched in liquid lead. Or mercury. All flowy and heavy at the same time. It’s not wholly unpleasant. 

At least it’s not unpleasant until Sammy finally asks himself the scary question his mind has vaguely swirled around: what happened to him? 

That’s when his artificial (definitely brought on by drugs) calm shatters. Something awful has happened. His body, drugged and as distant as it feels, tells him as much. He thinks he should be hurting. The thing is, he can’t remember _what_ awful thing has happened. He just knows he should be scared. 

The beeping starts to go quicker. Only when something moves off of his left hand does he realize there was a weight on it. Or that he could feel his hand at all. He needs to open his eyes but he’s so tired and they’re so heavy. He can’t. But something is wrong. 

“Sammy?” Ben asks, and Sammy nearly sobs with relief. Ben is here. Ben will help him. Tell him what’s going on. 

Oh, fuck. Wait! What if Ben is in danger too? 

That fresh spike of terror is enough to give Sammy the strength to open his eyes. Except. His left eye won’t open at all. He squints up at the too bright ceiling lights above him and squeezes his good eye shut again at the pain that lances through his skull. 

He tries to say Ben's name. Ask him what’s going on. But all that comes out of Sammys traitorous mouth is a pathetic sounding groan. 

“Hey, hey. You’re okay, Sammy. Here. Let me shut off the light. It’s kinda bright and….“ Ben’s stream of consciousness trails off. Sammy hears a click as the light goes off as promised. 

“Okay. That’ll be better. You still with me?” Ben asks, and takes Sammy’s left hand again. Sammy squeezes it weakly. It takes so much effort to do that. 

“Great...that’s great, Sammy!” Ben encourages, really does sound like Sammy just hung the moon. “But.. can you open your eyes again?” Ben still sounds encouraging, and kind of guilty, like he feels bad for asking Sammy to do anything. “You’d make a lot of people feel better if you opened your eyes again. You’d make _me_ feel a lot fucking better, Sammy. Please.” 

Sammy was content to fall back into the darkness, to drift away from the pain and the fear lurking around the corners of his mind. But Ben sounds so damn desperate. The ‘please’ breaks him. It’s Ben. He has to try, even if he really doesn’t want to. 

When he forces his eyes open a second time - because of course he does, it’s Ben and he’ll do anything for the other man - he’s rewarded with a giant relieved grin from Ben, who is leaning out over him. It even reaches his eyes, but, despite the smile that is part sunshine, Ben looks fucking awful. Sammy can only see him with one eye, but he can see that. 

“Wha…?” Sammy starts to ask and is almost proud of himself - that’s nearly a whole word, and the sound he told his mouth to make - but his throat is so very dry that talking aggravates it and before he can finish the single word he’s coughing. 

The pain comes back in full force. It feels like his entire right side is nothing but fire, stabbing fucking fire that spreads out along his ribs and across his chest. He can’t even draw in a breath between coughs - it just hurts too much. Each cough makes his face throb too, so much that he can’t even tell what parts of his face hurt...Underneath the agony going on in his chest, there’s this weird tugging on his right side - in his right side? - and it’s fucking awful. It’s _all_ fucking awful. He wants the dark nothingness back. 

But Ben is there. He’s got a tight grip on Sammy’s left hand, rubbing gentle little circles on his Sammy’s left shoulder with his other hand. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t do anything but that, lets Sammy squeeze his hand as tightly as Sammy can muster (which is admittedly not very tightly at all, but it’s still a cling and Sammy hurts too damn much to care much that he’s being pathetic and clinging to Ben’s hand) and rubs soothing circles with his other hand, while Sammy coughs for what feels like forever. And...it works. It’s something to focus on. Something that’s not the agony radiating from his ribs to seemingly every part of him. 

Ben’s a rock, steady and still in a way that Ben never seems to be able to be. Sammy thinks he must _really_ be in a bad way, if Ben is so calm and collected. Ben Arnold is indeed Sammy’s metaphorical rock, has been since the day Sammy moved to the freaky little town that ate his fiancé, but he’s not a calm rock on an average day. In times of stress, Ben is more like a pomchi puppy after it ingested a case of Four Loko and an eight-ball. 

(Later, Sammy will find out that Ben is medicated. It’ll take Sammy over a month to find out that Ben had such a bad panic attack while Sammy was in surgery (the first of two), that he had to be given a sedative in the ER. He’ll find out that to everyone’s shock, Ben didn’t need to have his arm twisted to take the medicine. He only needed to be reminded by Emily that Sammy would need him to lean on and Ben had to be healthy in order to do that. All of that, Sammy doesn’t know yet, he just knows that Ben ‘Sparkle Belly’ Arnold is being uncharacteristically calm in the face of a loved one being hurt, and it’s pretty damned unnerving.) 

Once Sammy's actually breathing again, shallowly around the agony, but actually pulling in oxygen and no longer coughing, Ben says “You’re at Big Pine Hospital. You’re oka—Well, no. You’re not okay right now. But, you’ll be okay.” 

The correction is not very reassuring. With a truly disturbing amount of effort needed, Sammy turns his head so he can see Ben better, so Ben doesn’t need to lean up on his tiptoes over the bedrail to be in Sammy’s line of sight. Ben is pale, his eyes and hair wild. Like he’s spent the last week running on panic and those awful neon green energy drinks he loves so much. Sammy hasn’t seen Ben looking this bad since the rainbow lights took Emily. How fucked up is he, if Ben’s that worried? What the hell happened to him? 

Ben must see the questions on Sammy’s face, because he keeps talking, saying: “The doctor’s said you’ll be pretty groggy and confused. You’re on a fuckton of drugs, man.That and the head injuries.” 

Did Ben say head injuries as in more than one? 

Ben frowns down at him, even though Sammy can tell Ben’s trying not to look upset, for Sammy’s benefit. Sammy is viscerally reminded of that awkward, shy kid Ben was five years ago when they first met. He looks so young and lost. Sammy has a feeling it’s his fault, and that makes him frown. Which...Goddam! his face hurts too. _Everything_ hurts, and Sammy has no recollection of why that is, and that’s fucking terrifying. 

“They said you might have trouble knowing where you are. But you haven’t tried to fight anyone again. So that’s good, man.“ Sammy does not arch an eyebrow because he knows it’ll hurt, but Ben seems to understand his question all the same, because he goes on. “They told us you were a little combative coming out of surgery...twice.“ 

“Sur—?” Is as far as Sammy gets this time before he’s coughing again. Jack-In-The-Box-Jesus that hurts. 

Ben’s petting his shoulder again. It’s comforting. And one of the few places that's not screaming pain at him. “Yeah. You, uh…” Ben clearly doesn’t know if he should tell Sammy why he had surgeries - as in more than one, Jesus. Ben huffs out a breath, looks lost and young some more. And, horribly, like he might cry. Sammy can’t take that. Can’t lay here knowing he’s the cause of it, too fucked up to move or even talk.He can’t comfort Ben if he can’t even manage to say a full word. So he squeezes Ben’s hand again. ‘I’ll be fine,’ he hopes the squeeze says, but he’ll settle for ‘hey, I’m alive.’ Thankfully, Ben blinks hard a few times and says: “I should get a doctor or something, tell them—“ 

The idea of Ben leaving him makes him panic. He tires to reach out with his right hand in a fit of desperation, only to find he _really_ doesn’t want to do that and it’s all bound up somehow. That explains why Ben’s holding his left hand. Sammy hears himself make a seriously pathetic sound, and clings to Ben’s hand tighter. 

“Okay, okay,” Ben says, and runs his free hand through his floppy curls, pushing his dirty hair out of his eyes. “I’ll stay. Emily and Lily will be back soon. They can get one then, okay?” 

Sammy feels some of the panic loosen its grip on him. The last two attempts at speaking have taught him that’s a fucking terrible idea, so he doesn’t. Just offers Ben a little smile of thanks. Ben smiles back at him, and Sammy’s eyes drift shut on their own. He forces them back open, only to feel them start to close them again - Jack-In-The-Box Jesus he’s tired. He feels like there’s a weight around his waist, trying to pull him back into the darkness and that mental image has him opening his eyes again, gasping raggedly. Those beeps are going faster once more. 

Ben leans forward, further into his line of sight again. His eyes are still wet with unshed tears. But he promises: “It’s okay, Sammy. You can go to sleep. You’re safe.. You’ll be okay.” 

Ben sounds like he really means it. Sammy is in pain, scared, and so very confused, but he knows Ben Arnold. He knows, if Ben says he’s safe and he’ll be okay, he’s going to be safe and okay. 

All he can manage is a grateful squeeze of Ben’s hand, before he lets the darkness swallow him back up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy starts to heal and remember.

The doctors were right. Each time Sammy wakes, he’s less confused. He’s still so high on a combination of morphine and what he suspects is a sedative that the kites are jealous, but the fog thins as time passes. He’s not fully sure how much time, as he still spends more time asleep than awake, but slowly he starts to understand that Ben, Lily, and Emily are taking shifts visiting him. One at the hospital, two home together. He thinks that’s important - nobody is alone, nor are they leaving him alone - but he’s not with it enough to put those pieces together. The staff even have wheeled in a cot, so whoever is with him can rest, should they want to, in Sammy’s single hospital room. He thinks it might also be important that he’s in a single hospital room.

He is is grateful that his friends, his family, are there, though he can see their worry (even Lily’s - he’s known her the longest after all, he can see through her layers upon layers of emotional walls) and he feels guilty because he thinks he did something stupid, got himself hurt. His family is upset, and it’s his fault, ultimately. He’s so grateful that he's not waking up alone that he doesn’t apologize -a small, hysterical, part of himself thinks if he does point out that he’s the reason for their distress by apologizing, they’ll realize they shouldn’t be there comforting him since he got himself hurt. And he really, _really_ , does not want to be alone, even if he’s not sure why he’s so afraid. 

The problem is, for the first few days Sammy is awake and (mostly) coherent, he’s so damned tired and so drugged that it’s hard to actually talk - and of course, it fucking hurts to talk so that doesn’t help either. He has about a thousand questions he wants to ask, but it’s all so much, and he’s so tired, that he just...doesn’t. He suspects it would be more frustrating if he wasn’t being given something to keep him calm, too. 

So he just kind of floats in and out of consciousness, for what feels like days, always grateful to see one of his friends there, watching over him, even if he knows in his gut he doesn’t deserve their kindness. Ben is mostly quiet, which is scary, but he holds Sammy’s hand and promises him he’s okay and safe when he drifts back to sleep. Emily reads out loud from a book, whatever she happens to be reading, and it is comforting to fade in and out to the sound of her steady voice, even if Sammy can’t follow the story at all. And Lily just talks a steady stream at him, almost like Sammy’s one of her Dear Listeners, but it’s more mundane than anything she’d ever talk about on Wright On - it’s more like what Katy Lynch cooked her for breakfast that day, or some freak out Ben had when he encountered a ‘one hundred percent not racist raccoon, no matter what Short Stack says.’ Sammy loves them each so damn much for it all, even if he can’t articulate the love he feels for them, right now. So he just tries to smile and squeeze their hands in gratitude. It’s all he can do. 

Slowly, he pieces together how badly he’s hurt from encounters with various doctors that shine lights in his good eye and poke and prod him in ways he’d really rather not be poked or prodded. He does have a head injury - but it was a concussion that was ‘mild, all things considered’ which was an actual fucking quote from the doctor with the flashligh that would be a lot more concerning (what does ‘all things considered’ mean?) if he wasn’t so damn drugged. His left eye socket and cheekbone are broken, along with his nose. That would explain why his face feels like one giant throbbing mess, and why he can’t open his swollen shut left eye. 

He actually had to have two surgeries (‘procedures’), another doctor told him, one to fix bones in his right forearm with plates and screws, and the first, big scary emergency surgery (not that the doctor called it that, but Sammy thought of it as that, when he was capable of coherent thought) was to fix his the damage to his lung that had collapsed after being punctured by a broken rib (later, he’ll find out his heart stopped during the surgery, though the doctor’s don’t tell him that right away). He has seven broken ribs on his right side, which explains why breathing is terrible. One doctor told him he was lucky it was ‘only’ his lung that was punctured by a rib - his heart or aorta could’ve been punctured, and then...well...Sammy wouldn’t be laying in a hospital bed doped out his skull. Sammy tries not to think about that too much. 

So Sammy slowly puts together the ‘what’ is wrong, but now ‘how’ it got wrong. Nobody will tell him - they all dodge the question and switch topics. Talking still hurts, even after they removed the chest tube that he had felt tugging in his side the first time he woke, so he stops wasting his breath after Ben, Emily, and Lily each refuse to answer his question of what happened. The last thing Sammy remembers clearly, when he can think about anything before the hospital, is leaving the station. Ben was fine — well, not injured, anyway, but he still looks awful each time Sammy sees him — so Sammy doesn't think it was a car accident on their way home. But his memory stubbornly refuses to return. The hospital staff keep reassuring him it was normal. 

So life inches forward in a blur of sleep, pain, doctors and nurses poking and prodding him and changing dressings, always with his family hovering around. Sammy gets the distinct impression they are there to protect him, but the question of what they are protecting him from makes him so anxious that he can’t think on it for too long or the heart monitor he is attached to (that steady beeping that had helped to pull him back from the edge of unconsciousness) goes off. And then hospital staff start running into his room to see why his heart rate doubled so quickly. So he just...tries not to think about things that make him uncomfortable. It’s a Sammy Stevens speciality made much easier by the fact that he spends most of his time asleep or being poked and prodded by hospital staff. He doesn’t have much time to think. 

That works until the nightmare. 

It’s like a memory on fast forward, it all happens so quickly and Sammy can’t stop any of it. He’s in the parking lot at Rose’s, Ernie god damn Salcedo in front of him, snearing, threatening. TimBot holding his arm, twisting. And then Sammy’s hanging by his arms in a place he’s never seen before, and Ernie is in front of him, threatening him with a hammer. Hits him in the face and Sammy screams, that forcing it up from the depths of your soul kinda scream that takes so, so much energy, and when Sammy opens his eyes again in the dream, it’s not Ernie there, but Jack, laughing, calling him weak, pathetic, never strong enough, never good enough, each insulet accompanied by a strike from the hammer. He screams, choking on the pain, the fear coursing through his veins, and it morphs into a sob. 

Someone is shaking his shoulder, calling his name. Ben. Ben is begging him to wake up. _Wake up?_

Sammy struggles to surface from the nightmare, from Jack’s cruel laugh. He wakes with a gasp, good eye opening to see Ben there, leaning over him, hand gently cradling the non injured side of Sammy’s face, thumb brushing under Sammy’s right eye - shit, he’s _crying_ , Sammy realizes, but that’s only a small problem compared to the fact that Sammy can’t seem to catch his breath. 

“You’re okay, Sammy,” Ben promises, and Sammy wants to believe Ben, he does, but he also knows he’s weak and pathetic and Ben doesn’t know that, because he refuses to acknowledge the truth, that Sammy’s a weak, pathetic excuse for a man, no matter how many times Sammy tries to get Ben to see that truth. Ben refuses to know that Sammy is a weak coward, has been his whole life. Ben has too much faith in him. 

That beeping noise, his heart monitor, is going way faster than it should. It starts to emit a loud steady blaring that tells him the nurses are about to come in and probably be worried, but Sammy can’t really find it in himself to give a fuck, because he can’t fucking breathe. He keeps gasping desperately for breath, but it hurts so fucking much so he can only slightly expand his chest before he’s stopped by the pain shooting through his rib cage, so he tries again and again but it’s not helping he feels like he’s suffocating, just like he was on the floor of the bakery, with Ben leaning over him just like this and Sammy can hear people talking, maybe Ben’s talking too, but it’s just background noise. All he can see is Ben now, and Ben then, back in the bakery and he’s in a hopsital bed but also laying on the floor of that fucking closed, under construction bakery and he’s going to die and he’s so confused but he knows Ernie and TimBot are going to kill him becuase he can’t tell them who The Fucking Dark is even if he knew for sure he just _can’t_ and he can’t get a breath in and if doesn’t tell them, if he dies or passes out again they’ll go get someone else, Ben or Lily or Emily, or all of them and make Sammy watch as he breaks their bones with a fucking hammer and shoots nails into their bodies and Sammy can’t let that happen, he _won’t_ , so he has to stay awake and alive even if he can’t breathe and no - no this isn’t right is it? It doesn’t feel right, but he’s sure, he’s so fucking _sure_ that Ernie is going to appear any moment asking him that fucking question again and he can’t answer it he _can’t_ and— 

Someone grabs his left arm. Sammy has enough air to scream, somehow, so he does, trying to pull his arm away from the person holding him but they’re strong and a fucking murderbot that’s gonna hold him down while Ernie fires nails into his arm now from the nail gun, Sammy’s sure of it. Sammy tries to scream again but it comes out as a whiney little shriek instead, and he can’t get his arm back so he tries to twist away from the hand holding him but _fuck!_ that is the wrong thing to do. Sammy gets about a quarter of the way onto his right side before pain lances through him, shooting from his ribs across his chest and Sammy just _stops_. He can’t breathe in or out. He can’t cry out or scream or even whine pathetically about the pain shooting from his ribs. He can’t roll back onto his back. He freezes, unable to even fucking think. 

The taste of saline floods his sinuses, the back of his throat, the sensation so soft and unexpected that he gasps in a much needed breath...And it slams him back into the moment, to the present where he’s in a hospital bed with too many tubes and wires and broken bones and stitches and oh something else is pushed through the IV and it doesn't have a taste but he swears he can feel it slowly spreading tendrils out across his body and melting into him. He tries so hard to just fucking breathe he almost doesn’t hear a voice he doesn’t know saying: “There. That should help,” in such a kind, concerned voice that Sammy could cry. Nobody with that kind of a voice would ever come at him or his friends with a hammer and unanswerable questions. 

Sammy pulls in a breath that is more a sob than an inhale, but then he manages another and another and fuck he is crying, but he doesn’t care because he can breathe again, at least shallowly, painfully, so painfully, but he can get air in his lungs and hold it there. He feels a strong hand push on his left shoulder gently but firmly until he’s laying on his back fully again and he lets out another grateful sob, looking up at the ceiling that is all blurry from his tears. 

He turns his head just enough to see, to his surprise, there’s a nurse standing in front of Ben, pulling a syringe out of the little port in his IV line. 

“There we are, Mr.Stevens. Back with us?“ She says it all so soothingly, so calmly, patting his shoulder as she talks. Sammy nods in response to her question, just a little, every inch of him hurts, his face almost as much as his ribs, but she smiles at him and her smile is almost as bright as Ben’s. “That’ll help calm you down,” she promises, though she doesn't tell him what ‘that’ is, or maybe she did but Sammy didn’t hear her. He’s still gasping hard for breath, whimpering pathetically at the pain the rapid movements are causing. She smiles down at him, encouragingly, and says: “There you are. You’re doing great, Sammy. Just slow down a little. Breathe with me.” 

She talks him through it. The pissy part of Sammy wants to tell her that this isn’t his first panic attack, thank you, he’ll be fucking fine, but he keeps that edge to himself. Partly because he really does have trouble following her for the first few minutes, but mostly because she’s been so kind. Finally, _finally_ , he’s breathing better, still shallowly, but he doesn't feel like he’s dying anymore. She must think he’s good, because she smiles and gives his shoulder a final pat. “Very good, Sammy. Now that you’re breathing better, what’s your pain level at, on a scale of one to ten?” She must see Sammy debating the answer too long, because she says: “Be honest with me,” in that same gentle but firm way as when she rolled him onto his back. 

“Seven,” he tells her. She looks like she doesn’t quite believe him - god how pathetic does he look like to her that she can read him so well? - but she smiles and nods all the same. 

“You’re a bit early for a dose of pain meds, but I’ll see what we can do, alright?” 

Sammy nods. She leaves him after a final gentle pat to his shoulder. The moment she steps away, Ben replaces her, reaching out to cup Sammy’s face again, thumb brushing away the tears drying on Sammy’s cheek. There are tears drying on Ben’s cheeks too, and his eyes look haunted. Sammy doesn’t deserve him. 

“You’re okay, man,” Ben promises, ignoring his own distress because of course he does. “God, Sammy what was tha—“ Ben cuts himself off, seeming to understand that Sammy doesn’t have the energy to answer that question, and instead says: “You—You’re okay now. You’re safe, Sammy, I promise.” 

Sammy smiles at Ben. The fear he felt upon waking has melted away like it happened to someone else (yay drugs!). His ribs are screaming at him, but that doesn’t really matter all that much either (again, yay drugs!). All that matters is Ben’s warm, steady hand on Sammy's face, the weight of Ben’s promises that Sammy fully believes. Even if he doesn’t deserve it at fucking all, Sammy knows Ben means it. 

“S’rry,” Sammy tells him. It’s hard to talk, his tongue feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. But it’s important he says this, now. 

“Wha—Why are you sorry, man? It was just a nightmare!” Ben grows animated, waving his free hand around, reminding Sammy of the version of Ben he knows and loves, not this calm, collected hospital version that Sammy thinks is for his benefit. His fault. 

He has to explain now - Ben looks so confused. “I...I got hurt. You — everyone — ‘s worried…“ Sammy’s having a hard time thinking in words in his head now, not just saying them with his uncooperative tongue, he can hear the slur in what he’s trying to say, but Ben seems to understand. His face goes hard like Sammy knew it would. 

He closes his eyes (eye), knowing he’s going to lose Ben’s comfort now. But he had to say it. It’s getting more and more clear to him that he fucked up, _bad_ , got himself grabbed by Ernie fucking Salcedo and TimBot, and that’s why he’s here in a hospital bed. He curls into himself as much as he can, given how much everything fucking hurts it’s not much at all, and waits for the inevitable - for Ben to come to his senses and leave him alone. 

Instead, Ben says, quietly: “Sammy, look at me.” When Sammy doesn’t do as asked, Ben plays his trump card and adds in: “ _Please_ , Sammy.” 

Sammy can’t deny him. He opens his good eye to look at Ben, though he really would rather do anything else. He doesn't want to see Ben’s rejection coming. Ben looks wrecked, on the verge of tears. Again. Sammy hates himself a little more. “Nobody’s upset with you, Sammy,” Ben says it steadily, like it’s as much of a truth as the sky is blue, but...Sammy’s having a hard time believing him, and Ben must see that on his face. “Really, man...you—you—“ Ben’s voice breaks and fresh tears pool in his eyes and Sammy’s self-hatred grows just a bit more when they start sliding down Ben’s cheeks. “Nobody is mad at you. What happened wasn’t your fault! They...they grabbed you, and they _hurt_ you. That wasn’t your fault, Sammy. You survived. We’re not mad at you, we’re proud of you. I’m so fucking proud and grateful that you survived them, Sammy...and I hate them, so fucking much, for all the pain they’ve caused you, but I’m not mad at you. Nobody else is either, man. I promise.” 

Ben is so fucking sincere. Sammy manages a small smile and a nod, not trusting himself to speak. He’s not so sure they shouldn’t be mad at him, but he thinks he should trust Ben’s judgment on this. Ben wouldn’t lie to him. 

Ben smiles back at him. “Now stop fighting the sedative that kind nurse gave you and get some rest, man. I’ll be right here, I promise.” 

And Sammy knows Ben will be. His eyes drift closed on their own, and Ben moves his hand off Sammy’s face to settle in Sammy’s hair instead, massaging Sammy’s scalp. After Sammy tried to throw himself into The Void, he started having nightmares he couldn’t easily wake up from. Terrible nightmares that he struggled against for what felt like hours and was too exhausted by it all to even get out of bed after he finally woke up screaming and sobbing. Ben would just cuddle up next to him and massage his scalp just like this. Sammy suspects that if he wasn’t so fucked up physically, with more tubes and wires going in and out of him and sporting so many broken bones, Ben would climb right into the hospital bed with him right now. He kinda wishes Ben could. 

Sammy lets out a sigh, and fights the drugs in his veins for another moment, saying: “Love you.” 

He can hear the smile in Ben’s voice when he answers: “I know. And I love you too, buddy.” 

Tomorrow will be rough, he’ll have to answer all the unasked questions from his friends, his family, about what happened, now that it’s pretty clear his memory is coming back. He’ll see how much it hurts them to hear about his pain, his terror, in those hours he was alone with Ernie and RoboTim. But true to Ben’s word, they won’t be mad at him for it all. Recovering from what was done to him is going to be a rough road. But he has Ben and the rest of their little fucked up family with him. They’ll help him along. 

For now though, now it’s just him and Ben in the darkened hospital room, Ben’s hands in his hair, massaging and soothing him. And Sammy’s drifting off, secure in the knowledge that Ben is with him, that he is far from alone.  
+++  
The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I’ve decided this is where I end this. I might revisit this in the form of a sequel. There are loose ends, but it felt like a natural place to end the story, for now.
> 
> I’m ramping up for Whumptober, and will be focusing on that. After October? Who knows.
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr, I’m rollercoastermoon there as well, and feel free to prompt me for Whumptober with any King Falls prompts...I’ve got a few planned. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings (in no special order): mild homophobic remarks (including the d word), torture (weapons used: hammer, nail gun), mortal terror, broken bones, strangulation, trouble breathing, mentions of Sammy being passively suicidal, non-graphic depiction of vomiting, minor character death(s) via gun violence...


End file.
